


Shame (Best of Three)

by magicopal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bottom Din Djarin, But they don’t, Creampie, F/M, Fighting Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Mando! Reader, Naked Female Clothed Male, POV Third Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, They need to COMMUNICATE, he wants to be a top but isn’t, top reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicopal/pseuds/magicopal
Summary: Staring up at his reflective armor, she couldn’t help but to feel a bit of jealousy.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107





	Shame (Best of Three)

There was always some sort of shame that rested under her skin as she stood before Mando. 

They were stopped at some semi arid planet, the Crest resting nestled in the valley between high peaked mountains. She guessed it must’ve been summer, for the mountains were not nearly as snowy as she should’ve expected during the colder months. Instead, the heat was only a little unbearable during the day (which really didn’t mean much, there were far too many unbearable desert planets that they had visited other times) and it only became truly cold during the early morning, a few hours before the sun had risen. That was when the air was wet, dew on the grass, and only the birds awake.

From what she had noticed when the sun was up, it was pretty. There was some sort of stream not too far away, running between a cluster of some sort of coniferous trees. The grass was a brilliant golden and a deep healthy green closer to the water, with groupings of wildflowers throughout. The Razor Crest had parked itself closer to the bank of the stream, from where it went from grass to a sandy, pebbly ground. 

Earlier in the day, when Grogu was wide awake and eager to explore, he had almost run straight towards the stream, but not before she caught him and held him close to her chest.

“It’s snow run-off, dear.” She murmured. “It’ll be cold.”

He squirmed in her grasp so she took that as an okay to set him down and let him run up to the water. He approached hesitatingly, putting his palm in the water first, before lighting up and laughing. He then decided to make a game of hitting the water, the droplets of water splashing as he did so. 

She sat close to him, but far enough to keep her distance. She messed with the rocks and sand, seeing if she could find any that she could identify. Occasionally she would find translucent red rocks that had bands of white running around it, but nothing really stuck out. She did pocket a few though. 

She liked those sorts of things. Small, visibly meaningless items that reminded her of why she even held onto them in the first place. Something she could look at and think of better times.

Back on the Razor Crest, along the edge of her cot were rocks, bells, random metal pieces (surely from starships), and so many more hand held items. She wasn’t sure if Mando ever saw them and she didn’t particularly care if he did, as they were meant for her. 

He was a man of impersonal objects. She had never been into his cot and the idea of doing so made her stomach queasy, but she imagined he didn’t keep small bits and bobs like she did. Even their shared refresher, he kept anything that would have meant something hidden away in one of the cabinets.

There was everything except that metal ball that Grogu liked to play with. 

“I’ll be gone for a couple hours.” A voice spoke up behind her and she didn’t bother turning. It was Mando, of course. 

“Okay.” Was all she said.

“Watch over him.”

She tilted her head a minuscule amount, just enough for him to see the outline of her profile. “I always do, Mando.”

He didn’t respond and when she looked up a few moments later, he was gone. All that was left in his place was a vague indent in the sand of where he once stood and the whisper of the grass rubbing together.

She enjoyed the warmth of the sun, trying to ignore any feelings that erupted from her stomach. She could tell something was festering underneath her skin, something malicious and emotional. It grew and shrank like the tide, enveloping and then leaving her bare.

All she could do was sit there and try to steer her emotions straight but all she could think of was the color red, dripping between her fingers, and bright sunlight, far too harsh for her eyes.

Later, after Grogu was put to bed and the sun had dipped over the mountains but the sky was still a light pale blue, she contemplated more. Her skin was tight and the tips of her nose and cheeks felt hot, reminding her of the day.  
The fire she had lit crackled as it burned. Occasionally when it would get reduced to embers she would add in another log. 

She sat far enough that she got some of the warmth but when the wind acted up she could feel the cold that crept in. She liked the balance between the two. 

Mando sat on the opposite side, this time on a large wooden log. His fingers dragged along his rifle, cleaning along the crevices of the metal. His grip was strong, she could see from the way his fingers clenched and his forearms tightened. The rag in his other hand wasn’t held nearly as tightly as he used the dexterity of his fingers to get to places he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. Something about the repetitive behavior lulled her into a trance, watching as he made work of the weapon.

It was interesting seeing how he treated such a thing, both inside and outside of work. When he was on a job, it was deadly. It was all sharp edges, like barbed wire, electrified. He wielded it perfectly, pressing himself flat to the ground, setting the butt of the gun in the crook of his shoulder, peering through the scope. He was coiled, tense and ready to shoot. 

It was a tool, used for brutal sharpshooting and every part of it reflected that. The barrel, perfectly round to shoot slug, long and piercing. The butt was shaped to lie perfectly in the crook of his arm, and the scope let Mando get the perfect shot, targeting bounties and whoever stood in his way.

On the other hand, seeing it trapped between Mando’s thighs, it seemed nothing more than a piece of metal. It glinted in the light, reflecting the licks of the fire. Perhaps it was some sort of art. Sculpted with delicate hands, made to fit in the palm of the beholder. Seeing his fingers delicately move along the ridges made her almost believe such a thing. He was merely buffing a piece of art to perfection. 

“Why are you staring?” He spoke up. 

Knowing she was caught, her cheeks lit up. 

Oftentimes she couldn’t tell a difference between her own admiration and jealousy. Mando, decked out in all his beaker was something to be jealous of. It was rare to see a Mandalorian in complete beskar, especially in this time and era. And it was very easy to say he wore it well. In fact, he wore it like a second skin, like the weight never bothered him.

She remembered that weight.

Shame flooded her senses again. She wished that one day it would disappear, fizzling into nothing but instead it sat in her chest, bright and rearing. It made her throat clench and the bottom of her stomach churn.

There was a day, one when she was far younger and far more naive, where she found herself in a battle. She was so, so young, barely a young adult. When she remembered the day, the images were rounded and fuzzy, like she was looking through foggy binoculars. The colors of that day blended together and created a watercolor of moving images. Mandalorians were known for fighting, and after being raised as one, she welcomed it with open arms. 

But it was brutal--limbs flailing, blood pooling, teeth bared as she tried to gain the upperhand. She was just a kid, in some cultures standards. How had they made her fight? How were they okay with making her fight? What has they said to her that made her so willing to embrace the pain of battle?

It happened all too quick. Her helmet, newly painted, ripped off her head. She tried to hold on as much as she could, gloved hands gripping their wrists, begging for it not to happen. 

She let go.

Seeing him sit before her, back straight, armor mirroring the flickering fire made that ugly being in her stomach hiss. When she had her own armor, it had been painted over with tans and reds, swirling patterns of her family and its crest. It had been mostly durasteel, save for her helmet. It was unlike the Mandalorian in front of her, a quiet display of wealth and power along his body, cushioning the delicate parts of his body. Her old armor gave too much away about her. Seeing Mando, it was hard to know anything about him. 

Like she said earlier, he was impersonal. 

But there was something more than just petty old envy.

“Would you be down for another spar tonight?” She asked, resting her head on top of her knees which were up and pressed to her chest. 

His helmet tilted, hands stilling. He didn’t respond, which was expected of him at this point. Slowly he stood to his feet and rested his rifle against the log. Her eyes followed the weapon, purposely ignoring the Mandalorian. He took a few steps around the edge of the fire but still kept his distance from her. Like an animal circling its prey. 

“What are you doing sitting down? I thought you wanted to spar.” He said, gesturing forward. It was rare for him to speak so much in one breath. She got to her own feet, walking backwards until she had left the warmth of the fire. He followed.

She liked to fight. She liked to practice and keep her body sharp. And sometimes she wasn’t willing to admit that sparing with Mando reminded her of when she was younger.

“Best of three?” He asked, crouching down, putting his arms up lazily in front of himself.

“Sure.” She said, copying his movement, but lower and closer to the ground, where she knew it was safest. 

The fire didn’t reach them out here. She was lucky that he was allowing himself to be seen, because as bright as his armor normally was, he was a phantom when he wanted to be. He looked different out here, the darkness of his clothing disappearing into the background. Just the light of the moon, creating a halo on the crown of his helmet.

He always moved first. 

She moved out of the way, kicking up sand in the process. With his entire body covered in armor, it hurt to fight him. She had to think about where to hit him without injuring herself in the process. There were vulnerabilities where his armor slotted together, in the creases where the metal didn’t go. His armpit, elbows, knees, hips—really anywhere there was a joint. So, as she moved past him she struck her elbow into the side of stomach, right where his armor ended.

He grunted, whirling around and hooking his leg around her own, forcing the both of them to fall to the ground. At the impact, more dust went sailing. 

He tried to pin her to the ground but the loose gravel allowed her to wiggle, forcing herself away from him. She didn’t run, no, she shoved him right back, grappling his limbs. She pinned him from the top, wrapping her legs around his own and pressing him down with a forearm to his neck.

But, he was stronger and threw her off. She didn’t go sailing, but it was enough for her rear to hurt as she hit the ground. She groaned in pain, but didn’t have much time as he lunged for her, going to grab her. She twisted her body as she tried to escape, but a firm hand gripping her calf was enough to stop her.

That beast in her hissed again. She scowled at the contact, eyes narrowing. She panted, feeling her heartbeat in her toes. Something in her felt hot and red.

He yanked her back to him with just one hand on her leg. She kicked at him, aiming for the center of his breastplate. It was there to protect him from getting shot at, not blunt force. If she hit strong enough, it would wind him and hopefully make him loosen his grip.

She did so, kicking the heel of her foot straight into his sternum. He made a noise of pain, letting go almost entirely. She seized her chance and dove forward, pressing the weight of her body onto his chest, one knee firmly on his upper arm, putting her hands in a lock on the other. She successfully got him trapped.

He tapped on her upper arm three times and she let go. 

The dust was still hanging in the air, making everything look softer. It made Mando disappear, muting the reflectiveness of his armor. The two of them were breathing heavily, fully situated on the ground.

“Nice moves, Mando.” She commented, patting him on the arm, sitting back on her knees to get her breath. She tried to ignore the foul thing that had coiled itself around her heart.

He only looked away, like something embarrassed him. Although he was possibly one of the scariest and most imposing people she’s known in her life (which was saying a lot considering how many Mandalorians she once knew) at times he almost seemed...shy? He had always been quiet, sometimes unresponsive. 

But there were other times where she saw the way his head turned and she wondered if a blush covered his face. Or the way he would skirt around the edges of the ship specifically so he could avoid her. 

“Round two?” She offered, sticking her arm out, which to her luck he accepted.

The second round went shorter than the first. This time, she moved first, trying to go around to his back to make him topple. Mando was like a turtle in that way. Once on his back, he had a more difficult time getting up. To his advantage though, he was not wearing his jet pack. And to her disadvantage, she was not quick enough, Mando grabbing her by the scruff of her shirt and yanking, sending her to the ground.

She ignored how his display of strength made her heart race. It made something in her twist and whether or not it was anger or something else entirely—she wasn’t sure. He never treated her gently, per say, (he knew how capable she was) but it was rare to see something like this, where he tossed her like she weighed nothing. 

“Shit.” She mumbled, barely squeezing out of the way as he went to pin her. She scrambled up, throwing her arm around his neck, hoping to put him in a chokehold, but he wormed his way out of it before she could really lock it. He bucked his knees, taking her with her. 

For a moment, in her vision all she saw was him. His armor, both smooth and sharp. The almost imperceivable colors of his clothing. She saw the way his armor glinted.

But none of it was really him. She was once a Mandalorian too. Beneath all of that armor, he was a being flesh and bone. Mandalorians hid themselves in their armor, only projecting what they wanted to be seen.

She had none of that armor. 

She could identify that emotion from earlier now. 

Anger. 

Then, he tucked and rolled, throwing her over his shoulder, where her back landed heavily on the ground.

“Ow!” She hissed, but was promptly cut off as his legs wrapped around her neck, arms pinning her own down. Her squirming did nothing but make him squeeze his legs tighter. 

If she didn’t pass out from the lack of the oxygen, she was gonna pass out from this view. Mando, the man who rejected any close and personal contact, on top of her, thighs wrapped around her head, body just slightly resting on her own. She could see the things that made him human, from the way his chest rose and fell to the way his sinewy muscles moved just beneath his clothing.

God, his crotch was too close to her face.

Finally she tapped him a few times on his thigh, and he released.

She gasped, moving upright.

“Are...you okay?” He asked, hovering over her shoulder.

She rubbed her general neck and head region, looking up at him with a sharp stare. Those feelings of shame were tempted to erupt again. She didn't say anything.

Then, she stumbled to her feet, ignoring the hand he extended and completely missing the dejected look as he put his hand down. Her arms rose in front of herself, but they were held limply, trembling as she clenched her fists. 

“We don't have to do a third round.” Mando said, not getting into a fighting position.

“I want to.” She said, trying to convince him. She looked like a mess, eyebrows drawn tight, eyes piercing his own, even with his helmet on. Her skin was damp from sweat, hair rustled from the wrestling they just did. She was oftentimes grounded and willing to fight to her last breath, even when worst came to worst. You could say something about being a Mandalorian, but there was something undeniably her beneath all of that.

But as she stood before him, a scowl growing on her features and legs trembling, he couldn’t help to be a little concerned. It wasn't like her to be acting like this.

“We don't have to.” He insisted.

“Just fucking fight me!” She snapped.

Like him, she was quiet. More prone to speaking out than him, she would occasionally voice her opinion in the quietness of a ship or hunt, but never did she snap. Even in the heat of a fight, blaster shots soaring overhead, she spoke to him like a friend. With kind eyes, and a voice that floated through the air. He liked that about her. Friends were increasingly rare.

Which is why it confused him. She seemed entirely okay before they began sparring, even being the one to initiate it in the first place. But seeing her get up from the ground after he pinned her, shaking and angry, he couldn’t help but to think what he did wrong. 

He did as she asked of him, putting his arms up in a defensive position, though must more hesitantly. She was diving at him quicker than he could realize, slamming into his body at full force. He grunted, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground, her on top of him. The impact was nothing compared to whatever the hell was going on with her.

Wrestling her felt like trying to wrestle a tooka. Before she was all strong movements, carefully placed hits and an agile body. But now she was scrambling, all teeth and claws. She grabbed at anything she could, from his clothing to his armor. She would try to pin him and he would roll and then she would roll with him. Neverending. It was like all former knowledge of fighting went out the window and all that was left was a wild animal.

This was not how they fought. This was not how she fought. 

As her head his the corner of his helmet, he came to a conclusion. He was going to end this shit now. 

His hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her back until her head hit the sandy ground with an “oof”. Then in one swift moment he had her pinned, pressing his thighs against hers, ensuring she wouldn’t escape. Immediately she froze, breathing heavily, like he had just shaken her out of whatever spell she was under before. 

“What has gotten into you?” He growled.

She scowled at him, face scrunching up. He could see the way the corner of his mouth pulled tight, like she was some sort of canine, ready to growl at him. Even in the darkness of the night, her pupils were blown out, encasing the entirety of her eye. He could feel the way her body breathed and trembled beneath him and he hated the way his body reacted. It felt good, admittedly, to have a living, breathing person beneath him. 

Shame. 

She spat at him. “What’s gotten into me? What’s gotten into you?!” 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Maker! I hate you sometimes! Shabuir!” She shouted, voice cracking. “Get off!” 

He didn’t flinch. Din Djarin doesn’t flinch, and he never has. But in that moment, he moved. He had been called a lot of things, but none of them had been intimate. They had always been people that hardly knew him, barking their words in hopes it would penetrate through his armor. Never had it been from her. The sweet woman who would cradle the Child until he fell asleep. To use Mando’a? That insult came from the soul.

Then, to top it all off, she began to cry. She stopped struggling and went limp. Deep, hyperventilating sobs. Mando imagined in some other world he let her go and she would cry in the solace of her own company. But rather, he had her pinned underneath of him, and all she could do was weep.

Shame.

It was all she felt. Advancing from the corners of her mind, tainting her vision. She felt like a child, so temperamental and whiny. Was this even her? What horrible concoction did she have bottled up within her that created such an explosive reaction? She was frustrated, completely overrun by thoughts of her old life. The worst part about it is she knew that version of her was long gone and that there was no way of getting it back. She was just chasing after a pipe dream. 

“I hate it.” She moaned, like she was completely in anguish, closing her eyes tightly, fat tears now rolling down her cheeks.

His hand remained on her neck, but less of a restrictive motion than before. 

This stupid fucking shame. 

“Did something happen?” Mando asked, voice laced with concern.

All she did was cry, mumbling the same phrase as before, over and over, tears dripping down her cheeks and into her hair. He didn’t remove himself from her, instead only moving his head away from her a little bit, unsure how to deal with the emotions bubbling out of her. He was concerned, obviously, but he was not equipped with the fragile emotions of others. And she seemed inconsolable at this point.

“What did I do?” He asked again, a little more panicked than before.

Her hand went up, grasping his arm that was still kept around her neck. He didn’t like the way he enjoyed the contact. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She hiccuped. “Please, Please, Don’t leave me.” 

He gently tilted her head to the side, and it was like something in the air shifted. Like a strike of lightning, turning sand to glass, electrifying the atmosphere. It smelt of ozone, sharp and burnt. Her fingers twitched. She swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the hand in her throat, and Mando’s legs wrapped around her thighs, body weight completely on hers. 

The tears were still wet in her cheeks but she froze entirely. Her chest shuddered in quick, shallow breaths, but she snapped her mouth shut, trying to prevent any noise from escaping her. It was like she was restraining every part of her body from crying like she was doing seconds before. All for him. 

Mando felt the shift in the dynamic the moment she swallowed. He didn’t want to vocalize anything, but he could feel her throat move underneath his palm and he actually liked the sensation. It was a reminder that he had the upper hand, body pressed against hers, pinning her to the ground. She had no way of moving, completely trapped under his body.

Mando was not a sadist, but seeing her underneath him, face wet from her tears, eyes red and glossy, and nose and cheeks red, something stirred deep within him. They worked close together and sparred hundreds of times, but it was never like this. Even when he would rush to the refresher, pants too tight in the crotch and some desperate steam needed to blow off, there wasn’t this spark in the air. It was like an aphrodisiac— too intoxicating.

He wanted to be the one to wreck her. He wanted to see her underneath of him, trapped, unable to move, squirming and begging for release. He wanted to see her mouth wrapped around his-

Immediately he shot off of her, like he was shocked, rushing back to the fire. Briefly she could hear him cursing under his breath, but she was mostly confused.

Shame. 

He went to grab his sniper rifle. 

“What?” She asked and stumbled to her feet. Her voice was thick, clearly pained. 

He paused, looking back at her, but didn’t say a word. They were closer to the fire now, so close it almost hurt. Her eyes burnt from the smoke and dryness, but she didn’t utter a word. Merely clenching her fists and staring at him with pure anger in her eyes, fresh tears welling up again.

“Go to bed.” He commanded. 

Anger. Never had he told her what to do. He always asked, understanding that their friendship worked on that. She wasn’t a person who liked to be controlled like that. Did he really despise her showing her emotions like that so bad? So much for getting close to the bastard anyways. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She snapped.

Oh, how we wished he could. He grit his teeth trying not to imagine anything. 

“Go to bed.” He said again.

Rather than saying anything more she lunged for him again. It was no longer sparring. This was all the shame and anger in her body being released in an explosion. Mando wasn’t expecting her to fully tackle him; one moment he was standing, the next moment his helmet was hitting the ground. Stars danced across his vision but he shook them away, trying to get her off of him. They were in a similar position as before, except the roles completely reversed. He had no upper hand. She grabbed at his neck and he held his breath.

She pressed herself down on him and he had to prevent himself from straight up moaning. What was he? Some pubescent boy? She was pissed off, ready to tear him apart with her own teeth and all he could imagine was fucking her.

“You. Do not. Tell me. What. To. Do.” She hissed, leaning forward.

She leaned forward to hiss more words, accidentally pressing against his crotch. He made a noise, so quiet it was almost a breath of air. A whine. A pretty pathetic one too. But with her hand pressed right against his vocal chords, she felt it more than she heard it. 

She paused, realization drawing on her face. Any anger she had towards him evaporated. Her face dropped and flushed, going to remove her hand, but his hand rose, stopping it in its place.

Mando grabbed her wrist. “Please, don’t go.” He whispered, like it hurt to speak. 

So, whatever they both felt in the air before wasn’t just some figment of her imagination. 

There was no denying she felt some sort of attraction towards him but she never wanted to admit it, knowing she’d never get it out of her mind once she did. Seeing him clean his weapons was practically porn for her, and that was good enough. 

Seeing him beg for her to come back sent a crackle of something down her spine. She became increasingly aware of her own body responding—a tightness in her chest and a throbbing further south. She felt wound up, like a spool of thread ready to unravel. 

“Are you sure?” She whispered back, not moving. It was hard to ignore how she sat directly on top of his cock. Her body knew this too, thrumming with energy. 

“Yes.” He responded, voice an octave higher.

“No armor taking off?” She asked, just as a precaution. 

He nodded.

Then, she hesitantly ground down, pressing herself flush against his chest. He made a noise, very clearly trying to quieten it by the sound of it coming through a shut mouth. He breathed heavier and she wondered what he looked like underneath of all of that. His muscles, pulled taut, sprawled beneath her. She wanted to see his face as he moaned, eyes screwed shut. She wished she could pry the armor off of him and leave marks everywhere across his skin. 

But there was something about this. The way he was entirely clothed and she could pull these noises from him as easily as she did. The danger of it all. She knew his power, each of the buttons on his van face, the knife he hid in his boot, and the way he knew how to use his body. Oh, the anonymity of it all was enticing.

She liked the noises coming off of him now, but she imagined her teeth in his throat, biting sucking as she pressed herself to him. Her core throbbed, and she huffed out a swear. 

When she imagined any dirty scenario with him, she always played the more submissive role. He would force her mouth down on his cock, watching the drool drip from her mouth and the tears run down her face. Or he’d pin her up against the metal wall of the ship, pants pulled down past her ass, bare tits pressed on the cold surface. He’d take her from behind, the wet sound of him taking her and their hot breaths being the only noise in the ship.

Sometimes she imagined him taking off his helmet, her legs circling his body. He’d hug her close to her, dragging his tongue along her folds, sucking her and savoring her like she was sweetest fruit. He’d taste her for hours, noticing the way she trembled and the way she writhed. There’d be a point that she wasn’t sure if she was feeling anything at all, and then the build up would come back tenfold. He’d push her to the edge, forcing her to orgasm, before starting anew. He’d break her apart, minute by minute.

That was just a fantasy.

Sitting on top of him, pulling moans out of him like this was invigorating. Mando was a big man, with a hidden strength beneath his skin. Seeing him unable to do anything but moan and beg for her made her admittedly very aroused. 

“Please, please.” Mando mumbled.

With a stop in her movement, she wrapped her hands around the hem of her shirt and pulled up. Mando’s breath hitched, visor trained directly on her. She was only left in her bra, which she promptly undid, breasts spilling out. She reached for one of Mando’s hands, meeting him halfway and guided his fingers to her nipples. Sure, she’d much rather feel his bare skin, but she fantasized about those gloves far too many times to deny herself of this experience. 

His fingers rolled over her hardened nipple and she sighed in pleasure. His other hand joined the first, tugging and rubbing at the skin. He toyed with her breasts as she pushed herself against him. Her head rolled back, melting into the sensation. 

“You—ngh—look gorgeous like this...On top of me…” Mando moaned. “Just wanna—ah—put my lips on you…”

He lightly twisted the peaks, and she groaned, bracing herself on his chest. Her heart was racing, a feeling of anticipation fueling her movements. 

Suddenly, a loss in contact. Her nerves were singing, begging for him to touch her, but she swore to god if she didn’t get his cock in her right that moment, she was going to combust. So, she stood up, shimmying her pants down until she was completely bare. She was completely soaked

Mando’s helmet kept itself staring at her, even as she settled herself between his legs. Even a hand reached up, pressing his thumb against her lower lip, cradling the side of her face. It would’ve been terribly tender if she wasn’t about to fuck the ever living shit out of him. It was like he was savoring her in a completely different way than she fantasized. Taking her in, trying to remember the edges of her smooth body.

She gripped the edge of his pants, pulling them down. First, she saw dark, coarse hair, trailing south from the depths beneath his shirt. Then, she pulled the waistband over his cock, letting it spring free. With it came a bead of precum, dribbling down the length of it. 

The head was red and weeping, begging for touch. He was well endowed, a thick vein running along the side. She spat into her hand, moistening it, before reaching up and grabbing him. He moaned at the contact, twitching in her palm. His body jolted like he had been zapped. 

She milked him a few times and rolled his foreskin over the head as it drooled. Sheheld him tightly, running her hand over the length of it, other hand guiding itself to his balls. He jolted at that touch too, but quickly melted into the sensation. She rolled them in her hand, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Hesitantly, she bent down and sucked around the head. He made a noise, loud and mumbled, like he was so overwhelmed to make a coherent sound. He thrusted upwards and rather than taking him in as much as she could go, she dragged her lips down the side of it, swirling her tongue over the veins and skin. It was salty, but she couldn’t care less, enjoying the way she pulled reactions out of him so easily.

“Sweet girl, I’m not gonna make it if you keep playing—ah—with me like that.” He panted, writhing.

Sweet girl. There was no way she could ignore how her feet curled up and the way her core tensed. Oh, she liked him calling her that. A lot. 

Slowly she moved up, keeping her hand firm on his cock. Then, she hovered over him, pressing his head against her folds, gathering the wetness. Mando sighed, head thrown back, like this was the best sensation he had ever felt. 

“Please.” He begged, hand reaching up to clutch her thigh tightly. At that motion, she sank down slowly, moaning in conjunction with him. His hand tightened, other hand going trying to clench around anything he could grasp, only finding air. 

He sighed, so beautifully and so drawn out. His chest exhaled visibly with him, his back arching just the slightest. 

She moaned, feeling too taken, too good. He pressed a certain point within her, something that made her skin sing, fingers curling and stomach heating. Her hand went down, playing with her clit, pressing her upper body weight over his, breathless. She clenched around him and all he could do was breath heavily.

If he was a man who vocalized his wants, she was sure he would’ve been begging at this point. But rather he lay on the ground, fists clenched and breathing heavily. He could’ve thrusted if he wanted to. In fact, she’d let him take all of her willingly. Instead he continued to let her have the reigns as his thighs trembled at the sensation. 

She began to move, slowly, and almost not at all, just enough to feel his head touching the same spot, over and over. Maker, he fit perfectly beneath her—all perfect lines, no matter how sharp or smooth. He was the perfect mix between soft clothing, hardy leather, and unpierceable metal. The cold edges of his armor met warm fabric, and Mando became less of a Mandalorian, stuck behind that all too familiar visor, and more of a human, all flesh and blood.

It was like nothing she had ever felt before. She had had some pretty stellar orgasms before, usually by her own hand after a particularly hard hunt, but this? He rested deep within her, completely at her mercy, twitching and dripping. 

He wanted to savor this feeling, but another part of him begged for release. He was embarrassingly close to releasing, based on the way his core twisted and balls tightened, but he refrained from doing so, biting his lip and taking deep breaths. Half of his commitment was to lay there and enjoy her. He wanted to feel this way forever, drowning in this wonderful sensation—so wet and tight. To see her peering down at him, eyes half lidded and occasionally screwed shut. The way her chest heaved with every breath and her beasts, round and full—it was all too much. 

He reached up, going to hold her hips, pressing his cock into her. They both made similar sounds, in the quiet of the night. If anyone was hunting them, they’d be screwed, but now all they wanted to do was enjoy each other. 

She lifted herself up, almost slipping out, before grinding down. Din saw stars. 

The action was repeated, pace quickening. She bounced in his lap, fingers rubbing at her bud, begging for release. The lines blurred between her wanting to pleasure him and chasing after her own high. It was just pure relief, any tensions and emotions gone from her body. She threw her head back, moaning as he hit that special place again, again, and again. It was wet and lewd as their skin slapped together.

To see her like that, arched so beautifully, mouth open in ecstasy. Her breasts moved with each motion, one arm braced on his chest and the other at her clit, rubbing in soothing, yet quick circles. A flush had covered her cheeks and the tears had yet to truly dry up. It was a reminder of what she was like just moments prior, sobbing and raging. She looked like a mess.

“Sweet girl—ah!l And just like that, Din came with a low moan. He tightened, bottoming out in her pussy. His cock twitched as he released his seed. He felt so loose and lax with his head lulling to the side and arms going slack. It was warmth and euphoria, swallowing him whole. 

She tried to follow in suit, still riding him and rubbing fervently at her clitdesperately trying to find release. After a few seconds, she came, falling on top of him, bouncing a few times to take her through her orgasm. She clenched around him tightly and slipped out after a few moments of her pulsating climax. 

She sighed pleasantly, lifting herself up off of him. Mando didn’t realize he shut his eyes until he opened them, watching as she moved like she was in a haze.

“That good?” She mumbled.

“Y-yeah.” He said, clearing his throat. He sounded embarrassed.

Suddenly, she froze. Her muscles tightened except for her hand which shot down, covering her pelvis. His hand snatched forward, stopping her from hiding. She didn’t move out of the way. 

Right. He came inside her. That was evidently clear, judging by it now leaking between her legs. And now seeing her, trembling and red, his semen dripping out of her, something stirred within him. She was still red and swollen, glistening in the lowlight of the night. Her hand went to cover herself again, but his hand remained firm. 

“Best of three?” He asked. She grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this was a little weird? it’s my first time writing smut and I’m trying to get used to it! I have some ideas in mind for another smut so lmk if any of y’all are interested. kudos and comments are appreciated!


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